


Nobody's Birthday

by Molly



Category: NSYNC
Genre: M/M, Popslash - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-09-17
Updated: 2008-09-17
Packaged: 2017-10-01 23:48:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,090
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/336
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Molly/pseuds/Molly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>In which there are seasons and bicycles and rehearsals and kissing and more than kissing. Also, in which there is Canada.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Nobody's Birthday

_Fall_

JC buys Joey a bike for nobody's birthday, and it's a great bike, a mountain bike with a water bottle strapped to the frame. It's red, with flames crawling over the paint, and the wheels are thick and sturdy. He buys himself one just like it, only green so they can tell them apart, and he keeps it at Joey's house so it's always there when he needs it. He has a bike at his place, too, a blue racing bike some assistant bought him when he said he needed one. The ones at Joey's house, JC picked out himself. He doesn't know anything about bikes, but he likes the exercise and the freedom, and he likes to go fast.

Joey's not athletic. He tells JC how not athletic he is ten times on the way up their very first hill. But the other side of the hill is a race to the bottom, wind flying in their hair, water streaming from their eyes. Wheels spinning under them, houses to either side nothing but a blur. When the street levels out and he can breathe again JC looks back and Joey is grinning, his eyes wide and bright. JC grins too, and lays on some speed through the fading afternoon light. It's the best month of the year, November, clear and cold.

Back in Joey's house, there's a fire in the fireplace and Christmas songs drifting from the speakers. JC makes hot chocolate in Joey's kitchen, makes a huge mess and uses too much chocolate. He puts in some cinnamon and nutmeg, because Joey likes it that way and JC doesn't mind it. He likes it the way Joey likes it.

Joey takes his mug from JC (it says _World's Best Daddy_ in red on black ceramic) and drinks carefully. JC rolls his eyes. It was only that once he made it so hot it burned, but every time now it's got to be a huge production. Once Joey tested it on the inside of his wrist like he used to with Briahna's bottles. JC gave it to him cold the next time and Joey hasn't tried that since.

It's good now, though, warm and sweet and thick with cream. JC settles in next to Joey on the couch, lets his eyes close and hums _White Christmas_ while Joey flips channels with the sound off. When he blends it into Silent Night, Joey looks over at JC and raises one eyebrow and waits.

"What?"

Joey rolls his eyes. "Dude, it's not even Thanksgiving yet."

"Dude, we made a Christmas album in _July_." JC pulls the blanket tighter around him and sings, "Ooo-ooo say can you seeeeeeee..."

Joey sets his mug down carefully on the coffee table and shows JC his hands. "See these?"

JC nods, still humming.

"Want them to be the last thing you see?"

Joey lets JC fend him off, and JC laughs, holding Joey's fists out at arms length. "Watch it, dawg. My pretty face is gonna help put your kid through college."

Joey nods thoughtfully and doesn't strangle him, so JC considers it a victory. Right over might, just like his mama taught him. It's good to be winning silly arguments with Joey again, so good to be together like this JC isn't even sure how to describe it. Good to be back, in his friend's house, in his friends' lives. Good to see Chris's name on his cell phone and Lance's in his email and one of Justin's cars pulling up in his drive. Good to be warm and lazy on Joey's couch.

Joey finds a channel he likes and stays there. His fingers pluck at the afghan draped over JC's legs. JC sinks down lower against the cushions, puts his sock feet on the coffee table. He points his toes, and stretches till everything tingles.

  
   


* * *

  
   


_Winter_

JC spends Christmas at home -- home with his family, as opposed to _in Orlando_, or _out in LA_. Tyler still doesn't know how to string lights on a tree, Heather still puts on too much tinsel, and his dad still fixes both when they're not looking. They carol with the Davidsons and their kids, from across the street, and JC wears a blue ski cap with a white ball on top pulled down all the way to his eyebrows. He sings quietly, and listens to the other voices, because he can.

JC has a secret house north of Vancouver, and he thinks of it as his _second home at an undisclosed location_. The press doesn't know, none of his friends know; he resents that he had to tell his accountant. The guys know, because he bought the place for them. The day after the day after Christmas, JC flies to Vancouver and drives up to the house, opens the blinds and opens the windows to let in some air. An hour later the sheets are off the furniture and the windows are closed and the heater is on and the teakettle is whistling. He's got _Jingle Bell Rock_ going on the stereo and a pile of holly and evergreen to litter all over the place. He sings along, loud and off-key.

Chris gets in on the 29th, with hugs and food from the Kirkpatrick women, and hugs and wine from the Timberlake women -- a category which seems to include Justin. He replaces all the holly with mistletoe, turns off _Carol of the Bells_ and puts in _Grandma Got Run Over By a Reindeer_. He likes his tea with honey, which JC doesn't have, and he likes his tea to be coffee when he can get it. That JC has. He breaks out the cappuccino machine and the espresso beans the next day and sends Chris off to the grocery store for supplies.

Chris comes back with honey and champagne and potato chips and Justin and Lance, who met up in Denver and flew to Vancouver together. JC hugs them all, even Chris again, and hides the Dr. Demento CD. He puts _Carol of the Bells_ back in, loops it, and puts a _Do Not Touch!! Or Else!!_ sign on the CD player. When Chris stomps off to pretend to pout, JC hides the remote.

New Year's Eve is bright and clear and JC is by himself at the lake when Joey arrives. He's thinking of all the parties they should've gone to, except this is time they need. They need to be together more now, because they weren't for so long, and there are empty places in their heads where four other voices should be. JC feels codependent as hell and thinks he should see somebody, but he's afraid he might get better. He sits on his dock Indian-style with his gloved hands fisted in his jacket pockets for warmth, and looks up at the low, grey sky. The cold has made things still, and he can see his breath, hear his own heartbeat. From the house he can hear occasional laughter ringing out but that's just another part of the quiet.

He didn't hear a car and he nearly falls in the lake when Joey grabs his shoulders, but Joey has a good grip and JC doesn't fall. He flies into Joey's arms instead, holding on with all his strength and saying "JoeyJoeyJoeyJoey!" into Joey's ear. Joey squeezes back and JC's back pops and they both laugh and hold on tighter.

Joey sets JC down and smiles, a wide triangle of a smile that takes up his whole face and closes his eyes except for a thin brown gleam. Joey's smiles warm JC straight through, and he slips off his gloves and stuffs them in his pockets and takes Joey's hands in both of his. He squeezes, and Joey's hands are freezing so JC breathes on them and Joey laughs at him and links their fingers together. Joey's from New York, and noplace else can be cold.

JC tugs at Joey's fingers. "Wanna go up to the house?"

"Nah, been there. I dropped my stuff in my room. They're cooking in there, I hope that's authorized."

"Hmmm." JC tilts his head and frowns up at the house. He thinks about it for a minute and decides he doesn't care and the frown falls away from his face. He shrugs, and grins. "Well, whatever. I'm insured."

"Justin broke a lamp."

"Dude. That's why I buy 'em cheap."

Joey lets go of one hand and squeezes the other. "C'mon. Let's go for a walk."

There's a path around the lake, maybe two miles from start to finish. Sometimes there are tall pines between them and the water, sometimes huge ferns, thick and low on the ground. The path is packed brown dirt, smooth, wide and clear. JC bought the house for the lake and loves the lake for the path. It makes him think of the winter before Orlando, and Cindy Parker's warm breath on his frozen cheeks, and how it felt to walk with her fitted in close against his side. He was taller than Cindy and the sun was bright, and the ice on the trees glittered like diamond. She had blue eyes and brown hair and the crown of her head caught the light and burned like a tiara. Her skin was pale and her cheeks were pink, and he kissed her by a lake, one arm around her shoulders, the other twined with hers between them. He still calls her sometimes when he's home, asks about her mom, her little boy. She married the treasurer of the Spanish Club and is blissfully happy and JC still kind of loves her. She's ten years older now but she's still the prettiest girl in town.

Joey isn't that much taller but he feels taller because he's wider. It  
makes sense in JC's head. He has to look up to Joey sometimes, when Joey stands up straight and holds his head high, like he ought to do all of the time. Joey's eyes are brown and JC can't see the top of his head and Joey would look stupid in a tiara, but his hand is warm in JC's, he holds on tight, he doesn't let go. JC isn't really pressed close to Joey's side but he's so close their jacket sleeves rustle together when their arms swing. When he looks up at Joey, and Joey's smiling down at him, JC thinks it's entirely possible his cheeks are flushed. His heart pounds in his chest and his blood zings with waiting and yeah. Definitely pink, he can feel it. He grins crazily, helplessly, at the ground and makes his eyes focus on the path and walks just like he's been doing it all his life. He doesn't let go of Joey's hand. The feeling gets easier to hold in but it doesn't go away, and it's entirely Cindy's fault.

He still feels a little breathless when winter laces ice through the trees.

  
   


* * *

  
   


_Spring_

JC stumbles out of the studio and nearly trips over Justin on his way to the showers. Justin's stretched across the doorway like a sweaty corpse, his jersey riding up his ribcage, wet through. He grunts when JC's toe hits him and JC saves himself from falling by grabbing Chris, who ends up falling, so JC falls anyway. At least he has something soft, if squirmy, to land on.

His feet hurt all the way up to his armpits and his head is spinning and he needs water. He never wants to dance again as long as he lives. Or at least until tomorrow. He thinks about getting up, but when he tries to get leverage Chris squawks and Justin starts cussing, so JC just stays where he is. Maybe someone will come with water. He's pretty sure they pay people to do that.

Five minutes later Lance walks out of the studio with a towel around his neck and his cell phone held to his ear. He's talking fast and smooth and steps over their dying bodies like they aren't even there. JC hates him with all the energy he can spare from breathing, until Lance rounds a corner and is gone. He makes a note to finish when Lance comes back in range.

Joey doesn't come out of the studio. He doesn't come out after five minutes and he doesn't come out after ten. Justin has shoved them off to either side and is snoring with little hitchy breaths JC remembers from the buses. Every time he breathes out there's a pause and JC wonders if he'll ever breathe in again. It's worrying. Chris doesn't seem to be breathing at all.

JC nudges him. "Chris?"

Chris whines.

"Say something, dude, you're scaring me."

"I hate you."

"Hey, what did I--"

"That bridge is like forty minutes long." Chris tries to push himself up, fails. Collapses back onto Justin like a rag doll. "Fuck, I'm old. I'm so old. Call me an ambulance, you fucking sadist, I need a respirator."

"Hey, I just write what the muse tells me," JC says smugly. He pats Chris on the head.

Chris shoves his hand away and groans. "I want that muse's name, and I want her address."

If Chris is whining, Chris is breathing, so that's okay. They need him for the high parts. Justin's not strictly necessary but the girls all think he's cute, so JC monitors him for a few seconds until he's absolutely sure the breathing thing is on-going. He pushes himself up to his elbows, makes his knees bend (ow) and his ankles bend (ow, _ow_), and stands up, swaying. Justin opens one eye and peers at him from the floor. The one eye looks impressed.

Inside the studio, Joey is on his back on the floor. An empty bottle of Evian has rolled clear of his fingers, and there's more water glittering on his chest and hair than just sweat could account for. JC grins, crouches down, and pats Joey lightly on the cheek.

His eyes open and flicker around the room before coming back to JC's face. He smiles. "C."

"Gotta move, Joe." JC reaches for Joey's hand and tries to pull him up, but Joey's a grinning deadweight and can't be budged. JC stands up, locks his legs, and pulls harder.

Joey groans. "Can't I just die here?"

"Not on the job, dude, and not half naked. We signed contracts." JC tugs again, with no luck, and gives up. He finds Joey's t-shirt on the floor a few feet away and tosses it onto his chest. "At least cover yourself, man. I feel like you should be charging me."

"Help me get out of here without falling over. We'll call it even."

JC rolls his eyes and tries again; this time Joey comes up easily, so fast JC stumbles and nearly falls over. Joey pulls his shirt on, trips over his water bottle, and then they're supporting each other through the doors. They make it over the Justin-and-Chris obstacle course and down the hall to the showers, where Lance has steamed up the mirrors with blazing hot water. He's still in there, singing to himself.

JC sets the shower as hot as he can stand it, knowing it's good for his muscles. He's got Chris's kit by mistake so his hair ends up smelling like papaya and his skin like Irish Spring. Before he turns off the water he switches it to cool and stands under the spray, letting it wash over his face and down his body. He thinks really hard but as far as he can tell, nothing has ever felt this good.

Outside, Joey is waiting for him. Chris and Justin's cars are gone and Lance is in his with the windows rolled up, still talking on the phone. The sun is low and the house and cars cast long shadows. Joey's hair sticks up in baby spikes, dark little peaks pointing in every direction. He's wearing shorts and sneakers and a brown t-shirt that falls in a straight line over his belly. Only two weeks of rehearsals and Joey's already losing some of his teddy bear fat, and JC doesn't know what he thinks about it. He likes the Joey he has in his head, and that Joey isn't this one. But that Joey has longer hair, too, and this Joey's working on it, so maybe it's not all that different. It's still just Joey, anyway.

"C. Jayce?"

"Hmmm?"

Joey waves his hand in front of JC's face. "Going home any time tonight, or---"

"Oh, um. Yeah. Yeah, I just." JC clears his throat and looks away. He just needed to spend a few minutes thinking about Joey's waist and his hair and all first, and yeah, maybe a little about his eyes. "It was a good day, don't you think? We did good."

"We did real good." Joey takes JC by the hand and leads him over to his car. "You okay to get home? No offense, but you seem a little vague right now."

JC glares and socks Joey in the arm. "Shut up. I'm just tired, I'm not impaired. I've had my driver's license longer than you've had your chest hair."

"Geez, how late do you think I bloomed?"

JC laughs and leans against the driver's-side door. The light's fading and he should get in his car and go home but he doesn't want to. He likes it here, he likes the light, he likes coming here every day and being with his guys and he likes Joey. He likes the way Joey's looking at him right now. Joey steps closer and JC likes that so much he forgets to breathe.

Joey doesn't say anything but his hands are flat against the windows on either side of JC's head, and his breath fans out over JC's cheek, damp and warm. JC shivers, and Joey presses closer and one hand comes down to JC's jaw and stays there. He moves slow, so slow, and JC has time to think about it, how easy it would be to duck his head and misunderstand and laugh like Joey was teasing, but Joey isn't teasing and JC, God, he really doesn't want him to be. He can't let him be.

JC folds his arms behind Joey and Joey's arms slide down and his hands curve over JC's shoulders and Joey kisses him there, first, just above the collar of his t-shirt. JC tries to say, yes, but it comes out strange and not really a word and he's shifting as close as he can get anyway, so Joey has to understand. The next kiss hits his jaw and the next their lips are together, and then they're open, and Joey's opening him up, drinking him down. They kiss for days standing right there, stopping and starting again, the March air getting colder and the sky getting darker and Joey making sure JC doesn't care about the time or the weather. JC's hard inside his shorts, and Joey's hand finds him and JC can't breathe, but he can bite Joey's lip and dive into his mouth and swallow him whole, that he can do, that he can't keep from doing.

It's Joey who backs them down, backs JC against the car again and licks at his lips and teases him back to sense with tiny little kisses on his eyes and his eyebrows and in his hair and on his nose. Joey's smiling at him so hard it can't be anything but real. JC smiles back and he knows he's smiling too much and he doesn't care. He wants Joey and Joey is there and he has him. He hugs Joey with all his strength and doesn't let go until a horn honks on the other side of JC's car and they jump and turn and Lance is leaning out his window, grinning.

"I bet y'all are really glad this is a private compound right about now," he calls across the parking spaces between them. He looks back and forth at JC and then Joey and then JC, laughing at them with his eyes. JC blushes fast and hard from his hairline to his collar, and hates Lance and loves him with all his heart and can't stop grinning.

Joey flips him off and JC hides his face in Joey's shirt and shakes with laughter, giggling until he can't breathe. Lance pulls out of his space and guns the engine, roars off into the twilight, and Joey's laughing too, his head bent down to JC's shoulder, holding him close.

"You smell like _Chris_," Joey says, "the hell?" and JC slugs Joey on the shoulder. His heart feels bigger than he is, big as the world, and it's all about Joey and that makes it perfect.

"You taste like you're supposed to, though," Joey says, "so that's okay." He kisses JC again to prove it.

When JC feels steady enough to drive, he puts Joey in his car and takes him home.

  
   


* * *

  
   


_Summer_

It's a slow tour and JC likes it that way, ambling around the country like they've got no place to be. They take the buses on long side trips between venues and concert dates, taking their time. Hiatus wasn't all bad, and nobody really wanted to go cold turkey. Chris says he's getting old but he moves faster and bounces higher than ever, and there's a light in his eyes that definitely wasn't there before the break. JC figures they all just need more time to recharge now. He feels good, easy, on the road with his best friends.

After Seattle JC and Joey let the others move on to Portland. It takes two hours to drive up to Vancouver in a bright blue rented Land Rover. Joey has a whole new set of lyrics for every new song they have and he sings them, loud, all the way there. JC sits in the passenger seat with his knees up on the dash and his headphones on and ignores Joey, except where their hands meet and hold.

At the house, JC opens up the kitchen and his bedroom and doesn't bother with the rest of the rooms. He kisses Joey in the kitchen while Joey makes ham sandwiches and iced tea, kisses him again in the hallway, again in the bedroom. He smiles with fierce satisfaction when Joey plunks his bags down on JC's bed. The French doors open onto the second floor deck as private as JC could make it, shielded by pines and a waist-high solid rail. JC spreads a thick blanket down over the planks between the deck chairs and spreads Joey down over the blanket, bare to the waist, too pale in the summer blaze of sun.

"You're gonna burn." He runs his hand slow down the center of Joey's back, and Joey smiles with the half of his face JC can see. He doesn't open his eyes. JC oils his hands with cheap coconut sunblock he picked up at a gas station on his way out of town, and starts with Joey's neck and shoulders. It smells like every summer ever, thick and buttery, and smoothes onto Joey's skin in a long, delicious glide. He covers Joey's arms, his hands, between his fingers. He rubs it in with small circles on Joey's forehead and cheek and over his nose. When he reaches Joey's lips, Joey bites, and JC snatches his fingers away and laughs.

He strips off his own shirt and covers his shoulders and arms, his legs below his shorts, everything he can reach before handing the bottle back to Joey. He sips iced tea, sweet, with lemon, while Joey covers his back with deep, easy strokes. When Joey's done he scoots close, spreads his legs on either side of JC's and pulls JC back against his chest.

"See? Now I'm all covered."

JC leans his head back against Joey's shoulder and smiles up at the sun.

Later, JC opens his book and stretches out on his stomach, close enough to feel Joey's warmth. There's a breeze, there and gone again, cooling them and then leaving them there to bake. JC finishes the iced tea and plays with the last of the ice with his fingers, making it clink lightly against the glass. He sucks at the slice of lemon, drops it back in and drinks down the last of the melt. Beside him, Joey's back rises and falls. The valley between his shoulder blades stretches down to his waistband, beaded with sweat. Covered with oil, he shimmers when he moves, reflecting the sun.

JC closes his book.

The last piece of ice turns liquid when it touches Joey's skin. It's too hot for the game to be cruel, and Joey grins without opening his eyes while JC's fingers chase water droplets between his shoulder blades. JC grins back and scoots closer, leans in and closes his teeth gently over the peak of Joey's shoulder.

Joey's eyes open, dancing with laughter. "You're never gonna finish that book."

JC licks where his teeth marked, follows the curve up to Joey's throat. "What book?"

Joey tastes like salt and lemon. In places he tastes like coconut sunscreen (and not even a little bit like coconuts), but JC pretends he doesn't notice. After a while he really doesn't, it's all one thing, all Joey, rising up to JC's hands and mouth, falling away. JC nudges Joey's hips and Joey helps him, pushing at his shorts, sliding everything down.

"Like this, okay?" Joey catches JC's eye, and JC says yes by stripping off the rest of his clothes.

It's like being on the water, Joey's breath and his moves have tides. JC knows them all by heart. When Joey stretches his arms out straight, palms flat against the boards, JC knows to run his hands slow and easy down his sides. It makes Joey's back ripple and bow, makes him grind down into the blanket and choke on a breath, a word, something. It sounds wanting, and JC has to stop and gather himself, just take in some air. When he can, he reaches up and covers Joey's hands with his own. He stretches out along Joey's back and Joey's back goes up and JC goes up and he grins, buries his head in the back of Joey's neck and bites down, for the sheer pleasure of being there to do it.

Joey twitches, says JC's name in the way JC loves best, and that's it; JC moves. He slides down Joey's back, easy and slow. The sun's a little lower and the light's a little longer and Joey lying there, his, is the most beautiful thing JC has ever seen. His hands run slow down the center of Joey's back, and his tongue follows, lapping at the sweat, feeling Joey shiver. He spreads Joey open with both hands and brings his mouth down lower, deeper, where he knows Joey needs it most.

It's hard to hold him still. JC needs all the strength in his hands and his arms, presses Joey hard into the blanket. He teases, light, wet strokes with the tip of his tongue, fighting for every second of it while Joey gasps and shakes under him, says things that don't make any sense and fists his hands in the fabric by his head. JC knows when to stop, when to flatten his tongue out long and soft and bathe Joey with it, firm and steady, and when Joey goes still and hard beneath him JC knows it's time to stop if he doesn't want Joey to come.

He doesn't. This is the best part.

His fingers are slick inside Joey and Joey loves it. He pushes up and moans, and his voice never gets like that when JC's not inside him. Just for the sound of that, JC could do this for hours, but there's more, the hot wet sucking _feel_ of it, one hand on the small of Joey's back to hold him and the other gliding long fingers in as deep as they can go while Joey comes apart around them. He loves how much Joey can take, loves how much Joey loves it, never thought it would be anything like this, sweet and dirty and hotter than the sun. Just amazing, fucking amazing that it's Joey he can have like this.

He slides his fingers out and Joey says, "_no_" with an absolute certainty that would make JC smile if he weren't shaking. He rubs Joey's back, scrapes fingernails down his sides and says, "c'mon, baby, up, yeah, like that" and gets Joey just right, pulls him up, pushes in. There's a second where Joey's nothing but still wet heat wrapped tight around him and it could be any one of the hundred ways it's been before, any perfect one, and it doesn't matter because every way's his favorite, every way with Joey is Joey. There's that second and then Joey eases back, drifts back and it's like _this_, yes, bright and perfect and slow.

He whispers "love you" into the curve of Joey's back and moves, deep as he can go. Joey sucks in a stuttered breath and jerks, and JC does it again, just the same. Joey mutters when he's like this, a low, thrumming, one-sided conversation with nobody, and the smooth rise and fall of his voice gets inside JC and buzzes in his muscles, in his bones. Every push is closer to the last and the buzz gets louder and Joey forgets about things like _slow_ and _easy_ and when JC reaches low between Joey's legs he goes still and hard and quiet before he starts to whine.

And that's it. That's the last thing JC can take. He pushes Joey down at the shoulder and pulls him in hard by the hip and _fucks_, because that's the way Joey needs it and it's good when Joey lets go, a rush of wet heat on JC's hands, Joey's voice filling his ears. JC needs it the way Joey needs it. He tries to hold it inside his skin, tries to close his eyes and take more, everything, but the way Joey twists on him is fucking indecent and JC falls on him, into him, and the release hits so hard he cramps around it and shatters, drives in one last time and hits the top.

The glide down is like bicycles flying down a steep hill, red and green, wheels singing.


End file.
